


An Unexpected Letter

by everlarkedandalways



Category: The Hunger Games, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Drabble, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 21:57:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6924976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everlarkedandalways/pseuds/everlarkedandalways
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss & Peeta receive an unexpected package in this short, fluffly drabble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unexpected Letter

“Peeta, what’s in this box?” I holler down the hall, as I hang my coat and scarf. Our typically uncluttered front hall has a large, sealed, cardboard box addressed to him with a neatly printed label showing a return address of Capitol City. I try to move it with my foot, but it hardly moves with my half-hearted attempt.

I find Peeta on the couch, sketching in his notebook, completely lost in his own world. A cup of tea sitting on the table in front of him has gone cold from neglect alongside a partially-eaten piece of toasted bread. It's a sight I'm used to seeing.

I don’t typically bother him while he’s drawing or painting, but I need him to open that box. I refill our heavy kettle and place it on the stove to boil. Then toast my own piece of bread, trying my best to be patient. As I finish nibbling on my toast, the water hits the perfect temperature. I pour us both a cup and place a teabag of chamomile in each one. 

Two heavy mugs hit the table with a dull thud and it brings Peeta to his senses. His eyes first look to the mugs and then up at me. “Hey,” he says with a grateful smile. 

“Hey. Did you hear what I said earlier about the box?” I flop down next to him, curling my feet onto the couch and under his legs. I grab my mug and hold it in my hands to warm them.

“Mhm. Sorry. Just getting my thoughts onto paper.” Peeta places his sketchbook and pencil down and picks up his mug, and blows on the steam wafting from his cup. “Some of the guys from the train station dropped it off not too long ago. I have no idea what it is. I didn't order anything. I thought maybe you had.”

“No. I haven't ordered anything. It's from the Capitol.” I take a sip of tea and begin to daydream about what could be in the box. “It could be anything!” 

Peeta chuckles at my excitement and my undying love for mysteries. He stands, pulling up my favorite navy joggers that have sagged dangerously low on his hips, and reties them into place. Shuffling with socked feet into the foyer, he disappears from sight and I hear a loud grunt echo down the hall as he hefts the weight of the box into his strong arms. 

“Why is that so heavy?” My curiosity is at an all-time high when he places it on the ground in front of our gray couch. 

“Let's see!” he says excitedly. Peeta pulls out the pocket knife he always carries with him, a habit he's kept since we were in the Games, ever the protector. The knife slices easily into the paper packaging tape and I eagerly pull back the cardboard flaps. 

“Oh. My. Gosh. What IS this?” I'm completely baffled at the contents of this box. Peeta kneels down next to me, wearing a look even more puzzled than mine. The box is filled to the brim with envelopes of all different shapes and sizes, a large percentage of them various shades of pink. 

On the top of the pile is an envelope with “Peeta Mellark, Open me first” written in neat, girly handwriting. Peeta hesitantly picks it up, pulls out the letter and quickly skims it over. I’m watching his face for any indication of what it says. He only looks more confused as he reads further down.

He passes me the letter and says completely bewildered, “It’s from my fan club.”

I grab the letter from his hand and read it myself. “Your WHAT?” 

“It’s from The Peeta Mellark Fan Club. All of these are from fans, written to me.” He starts to pull letters out and stacks them neatly on the coffee table. Among them he finds teddy bears, stuffed hearts, framed hand-drawn art of himself, some baked goods in tins and even some little gifts wrapped in colorful paper.

“How...who...why?” My brain's having a hard time understanding how Peeta has a secret fan club. I reread the letter aloud this time. “Dearest Peeta, we are your biggest fans! Thank you for being the most handsome and amazing Tribute, Victor, Rebel and Hero! We hope you enjoy all the gifts and letters we've enclosed. Love, The Peeta Mellark Fan Club.” 

Peeta’s stares at me in disbelief when our eyes connect. I pull him onto the couch next to me, taking the letters out of his hands and adding them to the table's piles. I whisper, “You have a fan club.” 

The laughter erupts from both of us at the same time and it doesn’t stop until we are both crying, willing ourselves to breathe. The thought that there is an organized fan club for Peeta is hysterical and so ridiculous.

Peeta squeezes my hand and kisses me sweetly on the mouth. He quirks an eyebrow at me, “I have a fan club.”

We spend the next hour going through the letters. Some are silly. Some are about how Peeta inspired that person. Some include family recipes. Each letter is a moment of connection for Peeta to someone. We share the best parts with each other.

I'm midway through my stack when I come across a very pink, very perfumed, very female letter. I already know I hate it. I open it with the thought that it's filled with the same cheesy adoration that's comprised eighty percent of these, but I realize quickly that the tone of the letter is much different. 

Nudging him lightly, “Peeta listen to this: ‘I want to lick your chiseled jaw. Run my fingers through your hair. Taste every inch of you.” I roll my eyes. “Ugh. I hate this girl. MINE. Doesn't she know I can shoot an arrow into her from here?”

“Read that again.” 

“What? Peeta…?” I lift my eyes from the letter to Peeta’s face. It’s an expression I know well: intense blue eyes full of want and hunger. It’s one of my favorite looks. 

“Read it again,” he repeats, barely audible.

Our bodies lean in to each other as I read it again. “I want to lick your chiseled jaw.” My hands tug on his henley, pulling him even closer. His face feels warm on my cool lips as I kiss along his jaw with small, chaste kisses. Peeta’s hands find their way to my waist as I slide my tongue over his chin, his jaw line and then lick my way onto his neck. His scruffy face on my mouth is rough, familiar and addicting. 

Leaning back onto the couch, I smirk, “Read that?”

“Keep reading, please,” he says playfully. His hands slide up and down my arms and over my legs. The letter’s still sitting in my lap. “Run my fingers through your hair.” 

Both my hands slowly slide into Peeta’s wavy, blonde hair, massaging all over his head and neck. His eyes close and he lets out a moan in response to my fingernails scraping his scalp. As he tilts his head back, I take the opportunity to kiss his sexy, perfect jaw again. 

Instinctively, Peeta pulls me onto his lap, wrapping my legs around him. His hands are in my hair, pulling and teasing me the same way I had him a few moments ago. His lips kiss and lick my neck, to my sensitive ears and then to my very needy mouth. It's hot and frenzied. As Peeta pulls down my tank and kisses my chest, he mumbles, “Keep reading.” 

The letter's crumpled between us. I do my best to smooth it out and go through the motions of reading the next line although I remember it easily. “I want to taste every inch of you, Peeta Mellark.”

A groan falls from his lips as I reach for the cords on his sweats. The letter drops as my knees sink to the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt from d12drabbles on tumblr for "An Unexpected Letter." I've always thought Victors were similar to teen heartthrobs in the Capitol. Thank you for reading! Check out everlarkedalways.tumblr.com for more Everlark.


End file.
